Showers
by Lady Lestat
Summary: Basically a fairly serious dramatic story set in season 2, but with lots of gratuitous nudity and brotherly banter. Could you ask for more? Should be a 2 parter in the end.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the genius of Eric Kripke.

AN: I got a little tired of writing about the Deal and lost sight of where it was going, so I thought I'd write somthing to amuse myself. This is set in season 2 after John died and before the deal. This should be a two parter and is largely to do with my friend challenging me to write a proper Spn story, but including nakedness as much as possible :P Enjoy!

**Showers**

The motel room was a mess; clothes were spilling out of duffle bags and sprawled across any surface available. A few lone shirts were still circling the ceiling before coming to rest on the mini-fridge, just as Dean made a last half hearted grab for them. He turned abruptly to glare at his younger brother for the millionth time that day as Sam once again sighed sheepishly and looked at his feet.

"What is it with you and spirits taking a shine to those radiant boyish features of yours, Sammy?"

Sam frowned at him from beneath his tousled fringe, "It's Sam, and besides, it's not like it isn't after your clothes as well."

"See, normally a spirit that gets its jollies by causing widespread nakedness rather than killing, I would totally approve of. But not when it's just us 'cos it's gotten attached to my little brother. And don't try to deny it – notice I've only lost a shirt while you've barely got a hand-towel!"

"That's not my fault; it caught me when I was trying to take a shower!"

"Argh! Look never mind, we need to find a solution to this. I will not be a nudist!"

Sam gave Dean a look to which the elder Winchester rolled his eyes.

"Oh shut up."

"I didn't say any-"

"You were thinking it, and besides that, I have no desire to see your money-maker and the way your clothing situation's going, it's not far off. When Dad was trying to save bathwater when we were kids, fine, but now? No thanks."

Sam ran a frustrated hand through his hair and unconsciously gripped the cheap motel towel harder.

"Well, what are we gonna do then? We're not even sure what we're dealing with here. Maybe we should call Bobby…"

Dean seemed about to agree and was about to pull his cell phone out when he suddenly stopped and shook his head.

"No."

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, confused at the quick turnaround, "What? Why not?"

"Do you really want Bobby to find out about this?"

Sam looked down at his bare chest and legs self-consciously and bit his lip. "Not really…"

"Exactly. That, and if Bobby does have experience with this kinda thing, I'm not sure I wanna know about it."

Sam scrunched his nose up in amused disgust, "Dean!"

The partially clothed hunter gave a smirk, "Would you?"

Sam decided he'd better change the subject quickly before they wandered into areas he wouldn't be able to disinfect his mind of later.

"So, this spirit doesn't seem to be violent; I wonder why?"

Dean turned serious as he racked his brains for a moment. "Well, not all spirits start out violent do they? Maybe she's just trying to get a message across."

"What message could we possibly get from this? Anyway, how do you even know it's a she?"

Dean raised an eyebrow, "For your sake Sammy, you better hope it's a she. Either that, or you're damn lucky you didn't drop the soap in the shower."

"_Dean_!" Sam glared at his brother and huffed in annoyance.

"Okay, okay. So lets assume for a minute that the spirit is trying to get a message across; how are we supposed to figure it out from being stripped of our shirts?"

"I don't know," Sam replied, "but I'm gonna go take a look into the motel history, see if anything there can point us in the right direction."

"Alright, well I'm gonna take a trip round the village and see if the locals have any clues to spill. You stay here and make sure the maids don't come in and cop an eyeful."

Sam narrowed his eyes as Dean gave him a shit-eating grin before making a cautious grab for a shirt. Finding no resistance this time, he shrugged it over his head as he walked out the door, letting it swing shut behind him.

Sam looked nervously around the room and, as he heard the distant rumble of the Impala engine retreating towards the main road, sidled towards a pair of jeans that had been flung over the television set. His fingers were mere centimetres from the prize when the precious fabric slithered behind the appliance of its own accord.

"Damnit!"

* * *

Dean slowed the car as he approached the village centre and smoothly steered into the nearest parking space he could find. It didn't seem as though many people were around; in fact, the overall appearance of the place was that it was somewhat of a ghost town with its rundown condition.

The buildings were sparse with several of them probably having gone out of use and left for scrap some time ago. Still, the largest and grandest of the buildings had lights on inside and Dean figured it would be his best bet after noticing the sign denoting it as the 'Village Civil Hall'.

Before he got out, the eldest Winchester had a quick fumble through the glove box of the Impala and pulled out his handgun, which he stuck through his waistband under his shirt, and deftly grabbed one of the fake IDs from the stack. The rest of them fell to the floor of the car and Dean swore colourfully; yet he sat and picked them all up patiently and returned them to their original spot, because there was no way that Sam's stupid elastic band idea could possibly have any merit. Nope, none at all.

The small brass bell above the door tinkled as Dean pushed it open and walked confidently towards the front desk. The woman sitting there glanced up as though shocked that someone had actually come in and hastily shoved her glasses up her nose, shuffling about in an attempt to look efficient and professional. Dean inwardly smiled; this would be a piece of cake. Potentially cake that he would take and maybe eat later. The receptionist wasn't exactly strikingly beautiful, but her simple features were pleasantly animated in her fluster.

"Can I- erhumph! Can I help you at all, Sir?" Dean gave her a lazy grin that made his teeth gleam white in the light of the desk lamp.

"I sure hope you can, Miss. I work for a nearby paper…"

* * *

Sam shivered a little as, despite there being no draughts and sitting with his back to the radiator, he still had nothing but a towel and he was freezing. While he was sure that the spirit must have a good reason for what it was doing, since it hadn't injured either him or his brother, he was, quite frankly, getting a bit pissy.

The laptop was on and he was painstakingly researching the history of the motel and local area on the net, yet the spirit seemed to think that this couldn't be accomplished with clothing. How come Dean got to wear shirts? Didn't a man have a god-given right to wear a shirt? Sam had had enough. Dean was able to pick his shirt up when he left to go into the village so why shouldn't he be able to do the same thing?

Rising stiffly to his full 6"4 height, Sam strode swiftly towards the door where a pile of his hoodies had ended up and soon found that the spirit was feeling disinclined to accommodate both his pullovers and his desire to leave. The door wouldn't open, even though the lock wasn't bolted and his hoodies decided to take it upon themselves to make a beeline for the bathroom.

"Fine!" Sam shouted in exasperation as he stalked sulkily back to the laptop. Huddling against the poorly heated metal of the radiator, he resumed clicking moodily through webpages. The research was proving to be quite frustrating despite, for a change, there not being a lack of things that could be the answer. In fact, the opposite seemed to be true of this sleepy little village; all sorts of murder and other crimes seemed to have been committed here, which made it annoyingly difficult to pinpoint which one the Winchesters were supposed to be dealing with. The sheer abundance of crime was probably the reason for its current near abandoned state and disrepair.

Sam wished that his brother would get back to their room soon, because then he might get a cup of coffee which would warm him up from the inside if not the outside. The younger hunter snorted softly as he rubbed at his eyes that were getting bloodshot from staring at the computer screen for too long. Going back to the search page for the local newspaper he cynically typed in 'naked victim' and gave a double take when the browser instantly directed him to a story he hadn't come across in his previous searches, yet fitted the bill exactly.

To be perfectly honest, Sam felt a little foolish now as he realized that the spirit making a point of taking his clothes had been an obvious clue after all. Swiping his phone off the small table in the kitchenette, Sam quickly jabbed the button to speed-dial his brother.

Dean was just getting back into his car when his pocket started blaring the dulcet tones of Black Sabbath at him.

"Yeah Sam, what you got?"

"An explanation. Dean, I was trawling the back catalogues of the local paper for likely deaths, and there weren't any that stood out until I factored in the issue with clothing-"

"Yeah, that reminds me, you got your ass in pants yet or you still moping around in that flannel?"

"_And_ I think I've Identified our spirit."

"Oh yeah?"

"Kathleen Meadows. She was the mayor's daughter back in the twenties. Apparently at the time there was a spate of murders and rape going on in the village all among the upper classes. Turns out it was the work of this local working class guy by the name of Clay Whittaker and, get this; all of his victims were found without a scrap of clothing on them. Says here he was madly in love with Kathleen and that one night she and him just vanished from town, leaving behind her fiancé, Thomas Charles, in bed with his throat slit. The papers at the time condemned Kathleen as going along with Clay's crimes as her body was never found and she disappeared at the same time as him."

Dean was quiet for a few moments before replying. "How do you know the spirit's Kathleen and not Clay? Actually, how do you know it's not just one of his other victims?"

"Well," said Sam in a contemplative tone, "for a start all the dead at that time in the village were being cremated as it was a small place and, if you remember, it was just after the Great War so graveyards would have been packed. Also, cremation was being seen as the new, hygienic way to deal with the dead, and since the victims were all of the upper class it makes sense that they'd want the most cutting edge practice."

"Right, OK then college boy, I'll take your word for it. Listen, I'm still in the village, I'm guessing it's nearly closing time, but I reckon I'm in with the receptionist so I can try and pull some stuff on Kathleen and her posse. She gave me her '_facebook_' address in case I needed anything."

"…You have no idea what facebook is do you?"

"Something naughty?" Dean answered hopefully.

"Bye Dean."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Eric Kripke owns Supernatural, not me.

AN: This is the final part of the story, so hopefully I'll get some reviews from you guys to let me know what you thought. Enjoy!

* * *

It was some time before Dean eventually returned to the motel, but Sam figured he could forgive him since he'd bought him a nice polystyrene cup of caffeine and a family sized bucket of chicken for them to share. Normally Sam would put up a token protest that a mound of fried chicken wasn't exactly a healthy meal but he was feeling rather charitable at that point. The spirit had finally allowed him to seize some jeans and a hooded sweater and all he currently cared about was basking in the gloriousness of fabric on skin.

Dean rummaged through his jacket pockets before yanking out a bundle of papers that appeared to be photocopies of an old newspaper.

"So listen, I was able to convince Wendy that I needed to have anything related to the Whittaker murders for the very important story I'm working on, and she gave me copies of a bunch of back issues of the local gazette." Dean looked to his brother for a reaction and was annoyed to find him sighing happily into his coffee cup instead of listening.

"Dude, would you pay attention?"

"I am."

"…"

"OK fine. You are the full focus of my attention. Do go on."

"Right," Dean continued, feeling slightly disgruntled. "So most of it was about all these women getting killed and their clothes removed before being dumped in the nearby swamp, but then I came to this."

The elder Winchester handed over one of the sheets a tad apprehensively, and Sam took it cautiously as his eyes fell on the central photograph. It was a report on Kathleen and Clay going missing and Sam nearly did a double-take when he saw the image of the fiancé who'd been found murdered in his bed. It was a simple black and white portrait, but the likeness of Thomas Charles' features to his own was uncanny. Of course, if you looked closely, the differences were clear, but, at a glance, they could have been twins.

"So, I figure this is probably why the spirit took such a shine to you, Sammy."

Sam looked up, "No kidding, Sherlock."

"There's more though, in the article it explains why it's the motel Kathleen's haunting. Turns out the motel was built over the foundations of what used to be the Meadows estate. Apparently the family used to take in lodgers due to the excess of rooms and three guesses whose room used to be right where ours is now."

"Thomas Charles?"

"Bingo! Give the boy a gold star."

"Alright, so where do we go from here?"

"Well, Clay's already taken care of, so that's crossed off the list."

"What d'you mean?"

"Look at the end of the story," Dean tapped the final paragraph with his index finger. "They found Whittaker holed up in a motel two towns over trying to find a buyer for all the jewellery he pinched. Guy was hanged then cremated."

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment, "I guess it's back to Kathleen then. She isn't violent, even if she does have an interesting way of getting her point across; she must want justice somehow."

"Like clearing her name of being involved with Whittaker?"

"Yeah, I think so. I mean, her body was never found so that's why they assumed she was with him, right? And when he got caught it probably wasn't a stretch to claim that she must have ditched him and run off with her share of the loot?"

"Loot? What are you a pirate?" Dean raised his eyebrows as Sam gave him an impatient look.

"Basically, we're gonna have to try and locate Kathleen's body and clear her name to put her to rest."

"Does this mean we're on swamp duty?"

"'Fraid so."

The mud gave an almighty sucking noise as Dean wrenched his boot free. Turning to look in annoyance at his younger brother, Dean felt marginally better that he wasn't the only one having problems.

"Didn't I always say you were a stick in the mud Sammy?" Sam gave him a frosty glare in response.

"I think we should split up."

"Aw, Sammy, you know I didn't mean it," Dean sniggered.

"It's Sam, and I'm not even gonna justify that bullshit crimbo cracker joke with a response. Now go look around and do your job."

"Alright, alright, no need to get all huffy on me…jeez." Dean smirked as he listened to the sound of his brother squidging sulkily off into the dark.

Sam loved his brother dearly, but sometimes, he really fancied telling Bobby that it was Dean who drank his secret stash of Maker's Mark from under the sink. Or something like that anyway.

To be honest, Sam felt he could do with a few shots of bourbon himself right now as the cold and rain were starting to numb his fingers.

Was it really such a good idea to take a wander through a swamp in the middle of the night? He could barely see anything but the pale circle of light his torch was projecting. Sam continued to contemplate the rationality of the trip as he took a different trip over the vertical section of a hill he hadn't noticed.

A short distance away, Dean wasn't having much better luck; so far he'd stepped in a muddy puddle up to his knees, and then he'd stuck his hand in something slimy on the tree he'd used to pull himself out again. His mood had taken a dramatic swan-dive, that had rapidly swooshed into panic mode when he'd heard Sam calling for help.

Unable to find proper purchase on the slippery ground, Dean slithered his way as fast as he could in Sam's direction, following the sound of his voice. The elder Winchester stopped dead as he caught sight of Sam dangling by his fingertips from a narrow ledge. It was a tricky place to be dangled really, as it was only a sheer rock face that descended into the swampy bog at the bottom.

Dean instantly dropped to the floor and stretched as far as he could over the side without actually joining his brother. Sam strained his hand in Dean's direction and scrabbled against the rock, trying to find a place to dig his feet in.

"It's no good, I can't reach you like this!" Dean began to look a little frightened, "Sammy, what do I do?" Sam's arms were shaking a little from being pulled taunt by having to bear the weight of his entire body.

"You have to get back to the Impala," Sam tried to look reassuring, despite the fact that he could feel the rock crumbling away beneath his fingers. "There's rope in the trunk; the trees are too wet for you to grip and break any branches off."

"But-"

"Just hurry back!"

Sam listened to the sounds of his brother's ungainly sprint fade until they merged with the sound of the rain falling past him. He knew he couldn't hold on any longer so, huddling his body as close to the rock as possible, Sam let go.

Dean didn't even noticed the scrapes he made in the Impala's paint as he frantically shoved the key in the trunk lock and hurled it open. Where the heck was that rope? Who doesn't pack a rope for Chrissake?!

Finally discovering a length, Dean slammed the trunk lid shut and looped the rope over his shoulder as he ran. He could barely see in the dark and the rain was blurring his vision, but he could still picture Sam as clear as day.

Upon making it back to the rock face, Dean dumped the rope and hurled himself to the ground to reassure himself that his brother was still there. He wasn't.

An icy cold feeling swept it's way through him, and it wasn't the weather that was creeping through Dean's bones. It was happening again; first his Mom when he was a kid, then his Dad and now his brother? How could life be so cruel?

"SAAAAAM!!" The wind howled around him and the rain continued to lash relentlessly at the landscape.

"…What?"

"What?!"

"What, what?! Dean is that you?"

"Sam?!"

"Well, yeah."

"SAM!"

"I already told you, yeah!"

"You're alive!"

"I know."

"You sonuvabitch!"

"Um… sorry?"

Dean stuffed his knuckles in his mouth and furiously blinked away the rain that may have looked suspiciously like tears, but really were just rain. Yep, definitely rain.

"Where are you?"

"Well, I slid down the rock a way and then I fell into this cave type thing in the rock face. Can you see my hand?"

Dean squinted downwards and saw a pale hand flailing about that seemed to protrude from the stone around ten metres below him.

"Yeah, I see you!. Listen, I'm gonna tie the rope to a tree and lower it down; you reckon you can grab it and pull yourself up?"

"I think so. But Dean, err…you're not gonna believe this…" Dean grabbed the rope tighter to himself.

"What?"

"I kinda found Kathleen."

"Oh…, I mean, where? How do you know it's her?"

"In here with me," Sam smiled wryly to himself in the gloom. "She's wearing the same necklace as the one in the photo from the paper; I lit some matches so I could see. She probably got chased over the edge of the cliff by Clay when he kidnapped her."

"Nice work, detective." Dean closed his eyes briefly in relief. "Now, how 'bout you get to work on shimmying your butt up this rope that I have graciously provided?"

Steam billowed from the door to the bathroom as Sam stepped from it, a towel wrapped securely around his waist. Dean glanced up from where he had his feet propped up on the desk as he idly sharpened a knife.

"Things have come full circle I see."

Sam looked down at his nearly naked body and gave his brother a sarcastic smile, before trying not to appear to eager to snatch his clothes up from his bed.

"Well at least I don't still smell like a sewer, Dude. You know you've got no excuse now the authorities finally know the truth and Kathleen's moved on."

Dean frowned, before giving Sam a smug smile and nabbing a towel from the radiator.

"Hey. Saved your ass."

THE END


End file.
